


Redamancy

by Lyricanna



Category: Fire Emblem: Soen no Kiseki/Akatsuki no Megami | Fire Emblem Path of Radiance/Radiant Dawn
Genre: Comfort, Fluff, Gen, Post-Canon, Post-Radiant Dawn, literally 81 years post-canon, soren zine, windsbrandzine, you can ship it if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-26 06:26:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21369628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyricanna/pseuds/Lyricanna
Summary: Years after Ike's death, Soren is still wandering alone in Tellius and beyond, uncertain of his place in the world.  Skrimir offers Soren solace, a place to stay and a purpose.
Relationships: Senerio | Soren & Skrimir
Comments: 4
Kudos: 30





	Redamancy

Year 729 – Gallia

Soren froze against the wall and waited for the guards to go by, using the subtlest wind magic he possessed to keep the sound of his breathing from reaching their sensitive ears. Magic that didn't require a tome; he had been shaken when he had discovered that they weren't necessary, not for him. He hadn't pondered what it could mean; Branded did have powers different from the laguz and the beorc whose blood he shared. Or perhaps not so different... He pushed the errant thought away. The guards passed quickly enough, but Soren remained frozen, counting to thirty, before he decided it was safe to move on. He really should talk to the King about that; the guards hadn't really changed their schedules and routes for the past two or three decades. Soren's face twisted; he didn't need to remind himself of how old he was. He didn't even feel the years weighing on him, only a loss that was still raw after nearly twenty years.

He continued down the wide hallways, keeping to the shadows. Of course, he admitted to himself, if he did inform the King of the tiny hole in his security, Soren wouldn't be able to get away with the sort of thing he was doing now. Then he'd have to deal with guards and dignitaries only to get a public audience. That simply didn't suit him. People didn't suit him. He looked in on Boyd and Mist's children and grandchildren from time to time. But he knew how to avoid the other villagers easily enough in the small town they had settled in. No, people did not suit him. But he needed company from time to time, needed to be anchored to something in order to feel... he wasn't sure what.

Real maybe. That everything he had lived through was real. He was running out of people that had experienced life with him, even if it were only a handful of years at a time. The Greil mercenaries were all long since dead. He hadn't loved them, but Ike had, and that was enough. He had made no friends in Begnion, but news could rarely be outrun. The empress was an old woman now. Daein held no interest for him, yet he knew that the prince consort Sothe was very old and Michaiah was sometimes called the Unchanging Queen. He kept no contact with the bird tribes; their invitations were for Ike alone and Ike was gone. He had passed through Goldoa only once in the past sixty years and the way that lady Almeidha had looked at him had sent him running within the space of an afternoon. Stefan and his branded were still in the desert, somewhere. Soren had spent some time there before the urge to move on overcame him. He was like the wind itself, always moving, a presence sometimes felt, sometimes dreaded but never rooted to one place.

Yet Gallia's wilderness sometimes called him back; it was largely forested land and its inhabitants were easily avoided. And it was one of the few places where he had an open invitation. One of the few places he could rest without pressure or fear. Or company. Yet the King, annoying as he sometimes was, had shared battles and experiences with Soren that he was loathe to forget. Odd how much one could come to depend on someone that he never really liked, but there it was.

Soren forced himself back to the moment. Letting his thoughts carry him away would lead to mistakes that were otherwise avoidable. If he was this close to where he wanted to be when he got caught, someone would surely accuse him of theft or planning an assassination. And that would be the end to these quiet visits, hidden from the public of Zarzi and the King's advisors. He had worked this hard for privacy and he was not going to lose it over a foolish mistake.

It wasn't long before Soren stood beside a blank, unassuming wall. Even though the beast tribe were blunt and forthright, their ancestors that had built the palace had been cunning. There were a series of passages around the King's personal quarters that had been built during the great war eight hundred years ago. That war, the single action that had set all others into motion. It made sense to have an extra escape route then. It was convenient enough for Soren as it was, although even he couldn't picture anyone stupid enough or an army large enough to lay siege to this castle.

Soren found the hidden mechanism to move the wall and slipped into the passage and the door closed again as if it had never opened. His eyes took only seconds to adjust to the dark and he started walking again.

At last he found the door he was looking for. He took a quick look through the tiny hole in the wall beside the hidden door; the King was alone in his sitting room. He worked his magic again and pushed the door open without preamble; Titania's lessons about manners never had taken hold.

Skrimir turned to face Soren slowly, utterly unsurprised by his arrival.

“It would be polite to send warning of your coming,” the King said wyly.

“Then you would throw feasts and have hunts in my honour and I would be forced to make nice with far too many people that I could not care less for,” Soren replied. He settled himself into one of the chairs as if he owned it. “Which I believe you have done in the past and which I left early if I recall, since it was terribly uncomfortable and dull.”

“You wound me, tiny sage,” Skrimir said with a grin. Soren merely sighed; he supposed it was a step up from tiny beorc.

“I believe that concludes our usual pleasantries,” Soren continued. How many times had they had variations on the same conversations? Once again he wondered why he even bothered visiting. “Stefan continues to reject your invitation by the way. His colony refuses to resettle or to answer to any king.”

“As do you, I imagine,” Skrimir replied.

“What would be the point?” Soren asked. Maybe it was the routine he craved? Normally he wouldn't ask questions that he already knew the answer to, but this... So many times over so many years and how many more would he live for?

“A home, a job, using your magic to help people and to preserve your arts by teaching them to someone else. There are beorc settled here now, living happily with us laguz. Of course, I could always benefit from your wisdom and Ranulf could use a break.”

“Dealing with Ranulf has no appeal for me,” Soren said offhandedly.

“You used to say the same about me,” Skrimir said as he finally took a seat across from Soren.

“You've come along way,” Soren admitted. Skrimir was still very excitable, but he had his temper reigned in and he was far more patient than he had been. He understood the need to plan ahead, to value knowledge. Soren had to admit that he had done well with his occasional visits in those early years after... Well he had to give Ranulf credit too; he put up with Skrimir everyday after all.

Skrimir's laughter brought Soren back to the present. “Well that might be worth a drink, tiny sage! A compliment from Soren!” Still chuckling, Skrimir walked to a side table where an open bottle and glasses were available. It didn't seem to matter whether the ruler was human or laguz, old or young, they always had wine close to hand. One of those perks of the station, Soren supposed.

Skrimir offered Soren a glass and the oddness of a King waiting on a wandering sage was not lost on him. He formed the words to decline, as he always had. Yet somehow he found himself drinking. A first, outside of public spaces and events. It was perfectly spiced – the beast tribe enjoyed spicy food as much as Ike had – and not very strong. A King needed a clear head after all. Another surprising show of restraint and forethought, not that Soren would verbalize the compliment. No need to make the same mistake twice.

They sat in silence for a while, sipping their drinks, no words needed. It was companionable, to Soren's surprise. And calming; perhaps that was the wine. That was easier to admit to, even to himself. Admitting that he felt safe here, that maybe he did want to stay was impossible.

“How long do you plan on staying?” Skrimir asked once his glass was empty.

Soren shifted on his chair, thinking, weighing his options. He had wandered for years with Ike, for years on his own, unwilling or unable to feel tied to one place. Yet he ended up here eventually, the visits slightly more frequent than they had been. Uncomfortable, all of that.

“Not long,” Soren replied eventually, looking anywhere other than his host. “I should probably...” he fell silent. There were no excuses to make, nothing required of him, no where he had to be. The world grew and changed, people aged and died and he looked nearly the same, untouched by the winds of time. As he would be for centuries. It was horrifying, yet he didn't have any urge to die. But he didn't really live either. Ike had been his reason, always. He had always known that Ike would pass and yet he had never prepared for it, not truly. He hadn't let _Ike_ prepare him for it either. He knew that Ike wanted him to live, to laugh and to love. He'd heard it often enough. And yet, there was no one like Ike. He couldn't just replace him.

“I don't know,” Soren finally whispered, looking down at the table. Another admission he was loath to make.

“You're a a wind sage Soren, not the wind itself. You're allowed to stay in one place; you're allowed to rest.” Soren looked up at that, startled. That was very nearly poetry, from Skrimir of all people. But he had a point. Soren was tired, bone weary and perhaps lonesome. And maybe, just maybe, he felt pointless, without purpose. And maybe, a tiny voice inside his head whispered, he was failing Ike. He wasn't living, hadn't laughed since Ike was alive. He was drifting, a feather in the wind, ephemeral and ineffective. Perhaps it was time to land, for a while.

He met Skrimir's eyes, searching the laguz's face. He was surprised to find genuine concern and warmth, hope and resignation all mixed there. A small knot of guilt formed in Soren's gut; how often had he taken advantage of Skrimir's hospitality while giving nothing in return? Every time, Skrimir had taken Soren's hasty arrival and retreat in stride, as if dropping in on a King without permission or preamble was normal. How often had he been re-provisioned without question or cost? Skrimir was kind to him and he had taken advantage while ignoring the fact. Titania would have had something to say about gratitude, Soren was sure.

“I'm not sure why you put up with me,” Soren said with a shake of his head.

“We're friends, aren't we?” Skrimir replied. He sounded amused.

“I use that word far less liberally than most people,” Soren retorted.

“You visit, you offer advice, you talk about yourself and your travels and we dine together. Short of training together, that sounds like friendship to me.” Skrimir's voice was gentle and guarded and Soren tried to ignore the reason why. He had thought that Skrimir had gotten over his crush on him long ago, but apparently that wasn't the case.

_ You're bad with feelings, Soren..._he pushed the memory away. He didn't need the reminder. What he really needed was to let someone in; he couldn't stand being alone anymore. He felt the walls that he had surrounded himself with for most of his life start to crumble.

“I guess so,” he said after too long of a silence. “I...I could stay. For a while. Rest would be... good, I think.”

“I can have a room prepared for you,” Skrimir offered. It shouldn't hurt to have someone care, but it did.

“No. I can't deal with being a formal guest right now. I need somewhere away from everyone.” He needed to rebuild that wall, he needed... what? And was it so bad that this shaggy lion of a man wanted to look out for him? To keep him safe? “I need to adjust. I can't promise my fealty or service but I need rest before we talk about anything else.”

“You can stay in the other room, like last time. It shouldn't be too dusty,” Skrimir replied. The King's apartments were extensive, including rooms for most conceivable purposes; a bedroom, a sitting room, a study, a bath, a private dining room, and the largely unused consort's room. Soren had protested over staying in there about fifteen years before, insulted by the implication, until Skrimir had threatened to announce his arrival publicly, with all associated honours. The fact that Skrimir kept it more or less ready for these odd visits betrayed the King's feelings more than anything he had ever said.

Soren murmured his thanks and retreated for the night.

-

“I'm surprised that you're still here,” Skrimir said as he joined Soren in the vaults of the library a week later.

“Is that a problem?” Soren replied absently, as he poured over an autobiography that had to be six hundred years old. A Branded who had lived his life peacefully here, who hadn't truly known persecution and had indeed started keeping records amongst the laguz. The account was fascinating and reassuring in a way that Soren needed.

“No. I could use an archivist and an advisor,” Skrimir offered.

“Indeed. This place is a mess.”

“But I'm not sure what the tiny sage needs to be comfortable here,” Skrimir continued.

“A friend,” Soren said softly. Then louder, “and an assistant. We need to start a proper cataloguing system. And scribes; there are texts here that the library in Melior could benefit from. It's pure folly to only have one copy of a text.”

“Well tiny sage, you are now the official archivist of Gallia,” Skrimir announced with a grin. “I should have proper rooms made ready for you.”

“No, I'm content where I am,” Soren replied, his face belying the offhanded words.

“Then who am I to tell you otherwise?”

“Who indeed,” Soren murmured and returned to his reading. Skrimir watched him for a few moments, hoping that Soren would say more. When it became apparent that Soren had nothing to say, he left.

“I think he has a chance now, Ike,” Skrimir said to the empty air as he returned to his duties.


End file.
